


Deep end

by When_Tommy_Met_Alfie



Series: When Tommy met Alfie AU [24]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Disordered Eating, Insomnia, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-10 21:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15300168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie/pseuds/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie
Summary: Sequel to Gun in my handWhile Alfie is bedridden to recover from his injury, Tommy struggles to deal with the aftermath of the events. When Finn is in an accident, he reaches a breaking point.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well this was supposed to be a oneshot but my lack of self control is staggering, and now it's a two shot!

Alfie is getting pretty fucking tired of being stuck in bed. Sure, he’s always been more inclined to sleep in than Tommy –which isn’t saying much, considering- but there’s a difference between voluntarily indulging in slothful behaviour and being forced to stay in bed due to having a gaping hole through one’s abdomen. Though granted, being forced to do so in Birmingham is significantly better than at the hospital in London. He’s never liked hospitals. But after two full weeks of being stuck there, Alfie virtually _despises_ it. This is an upgrade, definitely.

He shifts on the mattress, trying to find a more comfortable position as he starts over at the top of the page for what must be the tenth fucking time. It’s not doing his back any favours, sitting around in bed all day. And the ungodly cold weather isn’t helping either.

Unable to focus on the book, he glares at the snow outside the window instead.

His day is instantly brightened when Tommy comes in, carrying a tray.

“If it isn’t my pretty little nurse,” Alfie grins and puts the book down. “Should get shot more often, I recon. If it gets me this sort of treatment.”

“Fuck right off,” Tommy scoffs, but places the tray gently on the nightstand, before seating himself on the edge of the bed. The scowl smooths out. “How’re you holding up?”

“Bored out of my fucking mind. Other than that it’s fine. And now you’re here to make my existence more bearable.”

“And you still don’t want any of the morphine?” Tommy indicates towards the drawer on the nightstand, where the bottle brought home on the doctor’s insistence is kept. Alfie just gives an indignant huff, to which Tommy responds with a slightly arched eyebrow. He takes a drag on the cigarette and nods towards the tray.

“Eat. It’s chicken soup.”

Alfie takes the bowl and begins to eat, like a good patient.

Finishing his cigarette, Tommy discards the stub on the ashtray and starts fidgeting with the bandage on his right hand instead. Still haven’t healed up completely, the slashes left by the piece of glass. Alfie is pretty sure it’s got something to do with the frenzied tempo he’s started working at.

“You don’t have to do this, you know, love,” Alfie says and takes off his glasses to look Tommy up and down. “Rush back and forth between the office and here. Being bored never killed no-one. Know you and Esme don’t always see eye to eye, but she doesn’t mind carrying that tray up once a day. See, we’ve got a rather solid relationship her and I.”

Offering a shrug, Tommy lights up another cigarette. God, he’s sucking them down like a drowning man gasping for air.

“Not that I don’t want you here, mind you,” Alfie continues. “A fucking blessing, innit. Think you should spend far more time in this bed than you do, actually. Can’t be good for those ribs to always be moving about.”

“Doctor said it’s fine,” Tommy mutters and takes a deep enough drag to fill every hollow cavern in his body with smoke.

“Said it was fine to be out of bed, not fucking run around all of Birmingham,” Alfie grunts.

“Just shut up and eat,” Tommy says, the corner of his mouth twisting upwards. That smile concerns Alfie, because more often than not, at least in connection with a brewing argument, it’s just to throw him off. But he eats, while Tommy smokes his second cigarette as aggressively as the first one.

Tommy shifts uneasily in his seat. These tiny little movements. The corner of his eye twitching. A shoulder giving a small shrug. His right leg bouncing slightly. Every now and then, his gaze shifts to the closed door. Alfie interprets all of this as the usual stress. Probably thinking about all the millions of things he should be doing. 

“Tommy, love.” Alfie takes his hand, and Tommy finally stops fidgeting. “It’s okay. Go to the office. Just promise not to stay that late again, alright? If those ribs are ever gonna heal up, you need to at least stay fucking still at night.”

He gets a noncommittal hum in response as Tommy takes the empty bowl and puts it back on the tray, handing Alfie the cup of tea. Deciding on a different approach, Alfie reaches out and runs a hand up Tommy’s thigh.

“See, I’ve got this whole long list of things I’m planning on doing to you when they are. Recon we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

That finally earns him a real smile. It just flashes by, but it’s something alright.

Tommy remains by his bedside as he drinks the tea, talking about this and that for a little while. Smoking a third cigarette. Once the cup is empty, Tommy puts it back on the tray and stands to leave, leaning down to kiss him as he does. Alfie tastes whiskey on his tongue.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Tommy says and picks up the tray.

“Early, I hope.” Alfie opens the book again, putting his glasses back on to look admonishingly at Tommy over the edge.

Tommy gives a quiet little laugh. “I love it when you boss me around.” A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Especially when you’re wearing those.”

Cheeky bastard.

“I’ll do a whole lot more than just boss you around if you’re not careful,” Alfie grunts and sternly looks down at the page in front of him. He takes comfort in the familiar banter.

“Looking forward to that,” Tommy says, and then he’s gone.

Alfie goes back to his book, but can’t quite focus, his mind hazy from all the bad nights. The nightmares aren’t as frequent now. He still has them. But it’s better than during that first week or so, when they were combined with pain and an unfamiliar bed. And every time he wakes up, soaked in sweat with Tommy’s cries ringing in his ears, the sound of bones breaking interlaced with them, Tommy is there with gentle hands and soothing words.

“It’s okay, Alfie. Just a dream.”

In that hazy stage between dream and reality, he whispers incoherent apologies, asking for forgiveness for everything and anything. For not being able to save Tommy, for standing there and watching him get hurt. For not being able to protect him.

Tommy listens to it all, and says all the right things as he strokes Alfie’s hair, lulling him back to sleep, “It wasn’t your fault. Nothing you could’ve done. And we both got out alive, didn’t we?”

The words drown out the sound of the screams, and Alfie falls back asleep with only that in his mind: They both got out alive. So everything’s alright.

Tommy is always awake when Alfie needs him to be.

He thinks about that now, as he leans back against the pillows and stares up at the ceiling. Thinks about the dark circles that have begun lining Tommy’s eyes again.

Tommy is always awake.  

… 

Alright, so Alfie’s initial hope of Tommy’s family managing to slow him down slightly may have been naïve, but at least they serve as some respite from the boredom. Especially Finn, who comes into the bedroom almost every afternoon to tell Alfie about the things happening in the outside world. Or ask for help with his homework.

Alfie is more than happy to be of assistance. 

“See, you add it here.” Alfie points to Finn’s crooked four, scribbled on the line in his exercise book. “And then you get the sum.”

“But why?” Finn wonders, narrowing his eyes.

“No idea. It’s math. One of those things that you just do, innit.”

“It seems pointless,” Finn mutters, but obediently writes the numbers down. He stares down at the book for a little while, chewing on the tip of the pencil, before suddenly speaking up, “Is there something wrong with Tommy?”

The question hangs in the air as Alfie tries to figure out how to approach it.

“How do you mean?” he eventually asks.

Finn is quiet for a bit as he searches for the right words. “He seems… sad.”

‘Sad’ is Finns definition of a lot of emotions. But Alfie figures it’s not too far off. He considers how much to tell him.

“You know when he went missing, and we were in the hospital?” Finn nods. “Well, it was a really hard thing to go through. And right now he’s thinking a lot about it. And I recon that’s what’s making him sad.”

“Will he be sad for a long time?” Finn wonders.

“It’s hard to know,” Alfie admits. “But I promise you don’t have to worry. I’ll make sure to take care of him, until he stops being sad.” He does his best trying to sound reassuring. “And it’s not dangerous. Everyone’s sad every now and again.”

A thoughtful silence follows his statement, as Finn considers this. Finally, he nods and looks back down at the exercise book.

“Well, you’re really good at that, so then I recon it’ll be okay.” He bites the pencil again, before pointing to the next equation. “What am I supposed to do here?”

The conversation goes back to concerning math, and Alfie helps Finn work through the rest of the exercises. But his mind keeps wandering.

He’s worrying that maybe he’s made a promise he can’t keep.

…

The weather continues to be fucking unacceptable: cold as fuck. Alfie spends a lot of time staring at the snowfall outside, trying to be grateful he at least doesn’t have to go outdoors and face it. And every night when Tommy finally climbs into bed, he’s absolutely freezing. Unable to use Alfie as his personal radiator in bed at the moment due to the still sore ribs, Tommy has taken to sleeping in more clothes than usual, to combat the freezing temperature. Only upside to this is that if there’s one thing more simultaneously beautiful and adorable than Tommy wearing Alfie’s shirts, it’s Tommy wearing his sweaters. _And_ that Alfie has the pleasure of both watching him get undressed and then dressed again in the morning. At least if he’s lucky enough to be awake at the ungodly hour when Tommy climbs out of bed.

He is, this morning.

“Clearly you missed your calling in life, darling. Could’ve been a dancer in one of those less than respectable clubs.” Alfie smirks, looking up at Tommy from under half closed eyelids. “Know the ones? Think you would’ve been a lot wealthier.” 

“Go back to sleep,” Tommy mutters and pulls the sweater over his head.

“With this fucking view? Never.”

Shaking his head as he turns his back against Alfie, Tommy unbuttons the shirt and removes that too, shivering as the cold air prickles his skin.

Alfie’s heart sinks in his chest.

He takes in the contours of his spine, the sharp lines of the shoulder blades. And when Tommy turns to face him, confused by his sudden silence, the first thing he sees are the scaffold of his ribs, and jutting hipbones. Fuck. How did he not notice this until now?

“Bloody hell, Tommy, what the fuck is this?”

“What?”

Tommy pulls the undershirt over his head, but now when Alfie has noticed, no amount of clothes can hide it. He sees it in Tommy’s face too, in the hollowed-out cheeks, the too sharp lines of his jaw.

“You look like a fucking corpse.”

He regrets the words the second they leave his mouth, but by then it’s of course too late. A look of hurt flashes across Tommy’s face, eyes shifting down to his own body, before the walls come back up and he fixes an icy stare at Alfie. 

“Well I’m sorry that I don’t live up to your fucking standards anymore,” he spits, tugging the trousers up over his bony hips before pulling his dress-shirt on. “I’ll make sure to lie on my front the next time we’re fucking. So you don’t have to look at my repulsive face.” He steps into his boots, not bothering tying them. “But maybe you’re too disgusted to even put your hands on me?”

“Sorry, love, didn’t mean it like that. I-” Alfie sits up, but Tommy is already out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

With a defeated sigh, Alfie sinks back against the pillows. Yeah, fucked that one up, didn’t he?

He fully expects to be left to stew in his own guilt for the remainder of the day, and is very surprised when the door opens just a few hours later and Tommy comes in with the usual tray. But he doesn’t look at Alfie.

“Can I have a moment to repent for my terrible sins?” Alfie wonders when Tommy sets the tray down on the nightstand. Without sparing him a glance, Tommy pulls out a cigarette and goes to stand by the window. He takes a few long drags and blows the smoke in a thin stream towards the ceiling. Watching him silently, Alfie waits for some sort of acknowledgement of his existence. Tommy scratches the inside of his wrist before wrapping the arm around his stomach.

“I got you a book,” he says and indicates towards the food tray. “One of those soppy things by that woman you like.” Next to the plate lies a copy of Emma. “You haven’t read that, have you? Think you told me so.”

Alright, if Alfie felt guilty before, it’s nothing compared to how he feels now.

“No, haven’t gotten around to that yet,” he says softly and smiles, even though Tommy can’t see it. Picking the book up, he gingerly opens it to look down at the unmarred pages. “Been meaning to though. She knows her stuff, Austen. Though I don’t really deserve it right now, do I?”  Still stood by the window, Tommy fidgets with the bandage again. With a sigh, Alfie opens his arms in an inviting gesture. “Come here, love.”

After some hesitation, Tommy walks over to the bed and sits down next to him, still without quite meeting Alfie’s eyes. Though when Alfie’s arm wraps around his shoulders, Tommy gives up and moves closer until he’s cuddled against his side, carefully avoiding their respective injuries.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” Alfie kisses his temple. “Was a fucking awful thing to say, that. As well as a bloody lie.” Tommy relaxes a bit against him. “But it does look like a stiff wind could knock you over. And you’re doing a bloody impressive job of taking care of me, but… remember to look after yourself too.”

“I am.”

“Now you’re the one lying.”

He’s met by silence.

“It’s just a lot right now. With everything,” Tommy eventually says, glancing up at him. “Please stop worrying.”

“Fine. I won’t worry. As long as you promise to start eating.” 

“I am eating,” Tommy says and takes drag on the cigarette, before giving his cheek a quick kiss. “I need to get back to the office. Got a meeting with a supplier.”

Reluctantly, Alfie lets him go, and watches Tommy retreating back with a crawling unease in the pit of his stomach.

“Hey.”

Tommy pauses on the threshold.

“I love you,” Alfie simply says, being rewarded with a smile that actually makes Tommy’s eyes glitter for just the briefest second.

“Love you too,” he responds with the same ease. “I’ll see you tonight.”

With that, he leaves.

Things will get better, Alfie tells himself. Tommy’s hit a rough patch, that’s all. It happens. As soon as Alfie can keep a closer eye on him, and isn’t chained to a bed, things will get better.

If only he was a good enough liar to make himself believe that.

... 

It’s another bitingly cold night.

The wind whips icy flakes of snow against the windowpane, seeping in through the cracks in the frame. With all injuries finally healed enough to allow it, Tommy has gone back to curling up against Alfie every night. It’s a small comfort, at least, that he still seeks out the closeness. It’s even a welcomed feeling when he digs his icy feet in between Alfie’s warm legs. Alfie holds him tightly. As if he could make those broken pieces stick back together. 

“Fuck, did I miss this,” he mutters and buries his nose in the mop of dishevelled hair. “Better keep those ribs intact now, love.”

“As long as you stop getting shot at,” Tommy responds and sinks deeper into the embrace.

Alfie reaches out to turn off the light, leaving the bedroom in compact darkness. Fingers trailing up Tommy’s neck, he feels the quick patter of his heart. A sharp hipbone digs into his side as Tommy shifts slightly.

“Tommy, I know you don’t want to talk about that cellar. Or fucking… storage room. Whatever. I get it, alright. But I’m going to keep asking, yeah? Just so we’re clear on that.“

The tension runs like an electric pulse through Tommy’s body.

“I don’t know what else you want me to say,” he mutters and closes his eyes. “I was cold. And thirsty. And lying on a fucking concrete floor, so obviously it wasn’t pleasant. But there’s nothing to tell.”

Alfie resists the urge to sigh, putting a hand under Tommy’s chin to tilt his head upwards instead. Hard to read his eyes in the dark, but they seem calm. Don’t match up with the too fast heartbeat.

“Aren’t we past this point, yet? After the shit I’ve seen, do you really expect me to believe that? Must’ve been a fucking nightmare, being locked up like that.”

“Been through worse,” Tommy reasons, crawling up a bit on his chest to reach his lips and kissing him softly.

“Maybe, but it’s still something you fucking went through, right?” Alfie counters, breaking the kiss. “I feel like you’re carrying around this… weight on your shoulders. Bet that’s why you’ve got trouble eating. And sleeping like you should.”

“Don’t worry,” Tommy says. “There’s just been… a lot to take care of with the business since we got home. We’re here. We’re alive. Both of us. That’s what matters.”

His voice is firm, steady. But under Alfie’s fingers, the rabbit paced heartbeat continues to patter. There’s a fleeting moment where he considers pushing the matter further, but then Tommy’s hand wanders over his chest, continuing downwards. The kiss that accompanies the ministrations is slow and sweet, smoothing over the concern that prickles his brain like needles.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?“ he mutters the words against Tommy’s lips, trying to keep some of the blood in his head. “And we’ll work it out-“

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Tommy whispers. “Nothing at all.” He begins to stroke his cock, lips still locked against Alfie’s as he nestles closer against his side, rolling his hips. Alfie kisses him back now, hands running down his back to encourage the motion.

It’s been too long. And just a few strokes leave him achingly hard. Tommy continues to whisper sweet nothings in his ear,  _I want you… I’ve missed you… missed this_.

Tommy straddles his thighs and reaches into the nightstand drawer and Alfie gives in completely. After weeks of nothing more than some fumbling under the sheets when the need finally became too strong, he finds himself desperately wanting this. Grabbing onto Tommy’s hips, he carefully guides him downwards

Tommy rides him, moving in slowly. Gently. He is finally completely in the moment, not drowning in his own head. Alfie can see it in his eyes. And he forgets all about the rest of the world for a while.

Tommy’s right. They’re here. Both of them. Alive. And Alfie feels incredibly fucking alive at that moment.

He makes one last attempt that night, afterwards, when Tommy is lying in his arms, pliant and warm – _finally warm_. The wind whistles outside, and all Alfie wants to do is pretend that everything’s okay. That Tommy will fall asleep soon, and not lie awake and stare into the darkness. But as Alfie strokes his back, he feels all the sharp contours of bone against his palm, and is reminded of that distant look in Tommy’s eyes. The taste of whiskey on his tongue, and the dark circles under his eyes.

“So you’re really telling me you don’t think about it, eh? At all?” 

“Not much to think about.” Tommy’s hand runs through his hair, and Alfie feels his consciousness slowly slip. Things take a lot more out of him right now, leaves him with a bone deep weariness. “I knew you’d get me out of there one way or another.”

“I didn’t, though,” Alfie yawns and blinks as he fights to stay awake. “Got yourself out, didn’t you? ‘Least figuratively. With that piece of glass. Just like you, too. Beaten half to death, and you still managed to… watch my back.”

This statement goes uncommented upon. The hand continues to stroke his hair, and Alfie drifts further into the hazy darkness.

“You realise that, right? Could’ve gone a whole lot worse, that.” He isn’t entirely sure if he’s saying the words out loud, or if he’s just thinking them.

“Yeah,” Tommy whispers. 

“And I think about it. What happened. Think about the shit I could’ve done differently. About all the fucking mistakes I made. And you’ve let me go on and on about that. But you never…” another yawn escapes him. “Never talk about it yourself.”

“Nothing to talk about,” comes the familiar answer, quietly, soothingly. And Alfie is so fucking tired… “Just sleep now.”

The last thing he feels before sleep pulls him under is Tommy’s lips softly kissing the corner of his mouth.

… 

A week later, Alfie is finally allowed to at least spend the majority of the day out of bed. Tommy fusses, and thinks he should stay in the house, insisting that the air in Birmingham is so shitty just walking outside will give him an infection. Alfie decides to indulge him, for at least a few days. Mostly in an attempt to appease him.

He’s unburdening Esme from kitchen duty, as the rest of the family mills about in the house waiting for dinner. Only person missing is Finn. And Tommy of course. But sighting him in the house is a complete anomaly these days. Alfie reminds himself to call the office and make sure he comes home to eat something or so God help him he’ll go down there and fucking drag him back… Alfie stirs in a pot with unnecessary force.

There’s a knock on the door, and Alfie takes it upon himself to open. Much to his surprise, he finds a teary-eyed boy on the steps. He vaguely recognizes him as one of Finn’s friends, what’s his name again? Bill? No-

“Will? What’s happened?”

The boy sniffles and rubs his running nose with the sleeve of his coat as he stares up at Alfie with wide, terrified eyes. Clearly not the person he expected to open the door.

Bracing himself for the pain, Alfie crouches down to his eyelevel.  “Hey, what’s with the tears, eh? Something wrong?”

Sniffling and choking back sobs, Will begins to tell a barely coherent story. And Alfie feels his heart steadily sink in his chest.

The betting shop is empty when Alfie tears the door open and strides towards the small office, where he finds Tommy seated behind the desk, head resting in his hands as he hunches over a pile of papers with a cigarette between his lips. He doesn’t fail to notice the whiskey bottle, but now is not the time to comment on that.

Tommy looks up when he enters, weary eyes lighting up a little. Alfie speaks before Tommy gets the chance to say anything. No point in overthinking this: there’s no good way to say this

“Finn’s in the hospital.” His tongue feels like some foreign object in his mouth suddenly. “Got hit by a car.”

For a moment, Tommy just stares at him, his already pale face going completely white. When he finally regains his voice it’s barely above a whisperer.

“What?”

Alfie walks up to him and hooks a hand under his arm. “Come on, my car’s outside, I’ll drive.” Tommy gets to his feet when Alfie drags him upwards. “Rest of the family’s already at the hospital.”

“Was it one of Sabini’s men?” Tommy asks as Alfie leads him towards the car, voice completely void of emotions.

Alfie shakes his head and ushers him into the passenger seat. “Just an accident. Don’t know much, but I recon it’s got to do with the snow. He was with that friend of his, Will. On their way to the stables, apparently.”

Tommy is completely silent the entire way to the hospital, eyes wide and unseeing as they focus on his hands and the red line he’s creating as he drags the nails across the right palm. The bandages are gone now, and all that’s left of the injury are a few red puckered lines. Alfie wishes he could reach out and stop the frenetic scratching, but the road is slick with ice, and he needs to keep both hands on the steering wheel. Wouldn’t that just be the icing on the fucking cake, if they ended up flattened against a fucking wall?

But when Tommy begins to bite the knuckles, his hand instinctually slips off the wheel to gently grab his wrist.

“Don’t do that, love.”

Tommy flinches, staring down at the hand with bewilderment. Then he resorts to holding the hands tightly clasped in his lap. Unable to offer any sort of comforting words that don’t ring false, Alfie is silent the rest of the car ride.

They reach the hospital and find the whole family gathered in the corridor, occupying all available surfaces outside one of the doors. John and Esme are huddled together on a bench, while Ada sits on the floor, arms clasped around her knees. Arthur is leaned against the wall, staring with wide eyes at nothing at all. He looks up as they approach him. 

“Pol’s in there with the doctor,” he says before Alfie can even ask. and rubs his face. “Don’t know anything yet. But I think he was conscious when they brought him in, at least.”

He gives a dark look to a man pacing back and forth in the corridor. Arthur’s glare, coupled with the way the man wrings his hands and worries his lip makes Alfie put two and two together. The man’s eyes turn to Tommy, widening to almost comical size.

“I’m so sorry, it was an accident, I swear-“

Tommy’s fist connects with his jaw. The force of the blow almost knocks him off his feet, and before Alfie can stop him, Tommy has hurled the larger man to the ground, straddling his waist as he lands another punch on his nose.

“Tommy!“ He throws himself after Tommy, grabbing the back of his jacket and pulling him backwards with disturbing ease. He weights nothing. But he struggles violently against his grip, and Alfie definitely feels that he’s not up for this. “For fucks sake, Tommy, calm down-“

“I’m going to fucking kill you!“ Tommy stares wildly at the man sprawled on the floor, squirming and kicking as Alfie drags him backwards. “You hear that? I’m going to cut your fucking face off you-“

John comes to his aid, grabbing Tommy’s other arm, while Arthur pulls the man to his feet and gives him a light shove in the back.

“Piss off,” he grunts. “We know where to find you when we got some news.” 

The man scurries off, clutching his bleeding nose.

In the midst of the chaos, a new voice rings through the corridor.

“And what the hell is going on out here?” Polly has suddenly appeared in the corridor and is giving them all a positively withering look. “Tommy, what’s gotten into you?”

Using Alfie and John’s momentarily distraction, Tommy tears himself loose and backs away from them both, chest heaving in shaky breaths.

Polly shakes her head, folding her arms over her chest. “Fucking amazing, how you manage…” 

“How’s Finn?” Arthur wonders and Polly’s scowl instantly melts into a relieved smile. Alfie can suddenly breathe again.

“He’s fine. Or fine, considering. Broke his left arm and got a concussion. But other than that it’s just scrapes and bruises. Could’ve been much worse.”

The tension in the corridor dissipates as everyone in the family takes a collective breath.

Alfie says a short, quiet thanks to whatever higher power has decided to look out for them.

“Can we see him, then?” Ada wonders and more or less shoots up from the floor.

“Only if there’s no more of this ridiculous behaviour,” Polly says sternly and all gazes are directed at Tommy.

Tommy stares at some undetermined spot on the wall, his right hand clenching and unclenching as he clutches it to his stomach. It feels like watching a cornered animal, and Alfie reaches out for him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Tommy, darling, it’s-“

Tommy shrugs the hand off and distances himself.

“I’m going back to the office.”

Alfie’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re fucking _what_?”

“Dragged me away from the paperwork, didn’t you?” Tommy says flatly and pulls out a cigarette. “I wasn’t finished.”

“So you’re not going to see Finn?” John is giving him a look of utter disbelief.

“He’s fine, isn’t he?” Tommy shrugs and looks icily at his younger brother.

Alfie tries again to grab him, wants to hold him down, keep him from making this mistake, but Tommy moves away, turning on his heel to walk towards the door.

“You’re a selfish piece of shit, you know that?” John calls after him. “Maybe you could save some fucking space in your head for someone else, for once in you goddamn life!”

Without as much as slowing his step, Tommy disappears out the door, leaving them in stunned silence.

“I’ve had it up to fucking here with him,” John spits and makes a move to follow, but Alfie blocks his path.

“No use in doing that, mate,” he says. “What are you planning to do, eh? Drag him back here? Let him walk it off.”

“Not even you can be on his side right now,” Esme speaks up from the bench.

Alfie sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Honestly, I don’t think even _he_ is on his side.”

“Fuck him,” Ada concludes. “Let’s go see Finn.”

Alfie follows the rest of the family into the hospital room, trying to ignore the tight knot in the pit of his stomach. _You need to go after him. He’ll hurt himself._ But no, he’s not about to run after Tommy when he’s behaving like this. Honestly he needs some time to cool off before attempting any sort of rational discussion with that absolutely impossible man.

Finn sits up in the bed and smiles brightly at them when they come in, looking a bit overwhelmed at being surrounded by doting adults suddenly.

When everyone’s had their fill of concerned question, relieved exclamations and insistences that he must be more careful, _just think of what could’ve happened_ \- Finn looks around the room.

“Where’s Tommy?”

“He’s off behaving like a fucking idiot, is where he is,” John rages, but cuts himself off when Arthur’s hand lands on his shoulder, accompanied with a stern gaze. Realising it’s probably up to him to attempt an explanation, Alfie sighs.

“Tommy… isn’t well,” he says, carefully choosing his words. Finn furrows his brow.

“Is he sick?”

Alfie is very aware of the looks he’s receiving from the rest of the family right then: everything from a glower from John, to a sad gaze from Polly. Rest of them mostly seem confused.

Hard for them to know, innit? They’re not the ones lying next to Tommy at night, feeling his heart beat like a frightened hare’s even as he claims that everything’s fine. And they’re so used to his frenzied tempo that maybe it does go them completely by; that he’s doing his very best working himself to death.

“You could say that. In a way,” Alfie says. “He’s got a lot of bad stuff in his head right now, and it’s making him do strange things.” Finn seems to catch on. 

“Oh.” 

“Doesn’t excuse acting like a fucking arse.” John glowers.

“Not what I said, now, was it?” Alfie gives him a warning look, before turning back to Finn. “I think he’s doing his best. It’s just that his best isn’t… very good right now.”

“I think you should go look for him,” Finn states firmly. “People shouldn’t be alone when they’re sad.”

“Let him seethe,” John grunts. “Won’t hurt him. Bloody hell when I-”

“Right now I’m here with you, ain’t I?” Alfie says to silence John before he manages to piss him off. “I’ll go find him in a little bit.”

“But, it doesn’t make any sense,” Finn argues. “My head’s not well, but his… isn’t either. So I don’t think it’s fair that he’s all alone.” He looks at the gathered group of adults. “I’ve got all of you here, and Tommy’s got no one.”

Finn shouldn’t have to be this wise. It’s not really fair. And Alfie shouldn’t feel grateful, but he does, still.

“You’ve got more sense in your head than the rest of this family put together,” Polly says to her youngest nephew. She’s noticed alright, Alfie concludes when she looks at him, jerking her head towards the door. “Go. He’s about to do something stupid.”

He hears Arthur mutter behind his back as he leaves. “When is he ever not?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

As he drives back to the office, Alfie tries to gain some sort of control of himself and the onset of conflicting emotions. He’s pissed, alright. That cold detachment is Tommy’s absolutely worst side; it’s hard to love him when it comes out. Though isn’t that the thing with love? You don’t just love people when it’s easy. Not just some fucking reward after they’ve been especially good in bed, or when they’re giving you tender looks across the breakfast table. No, you love them all the same when they’re being stubborn little bastards. And he shouldn’t have let Tommy storm off. Because that boy has the capacity to do an astonishing amount of damage to himself in a very short amount of time. And if Alfie let’s something happen to him… Fuck, he’ll never forgive himself.

The office is empty. And the discovery leaves him standing helplessly in the middle of the small, dark room, at loss with what to do for a moment as he feels that all too familiar unease crawl in his guts. If Tommy isn’t burying himself in work to cope, he’s doing something far worse.

Despite doubting that Tommy would seek out other people, the Garrison with its promise of whiskey is the next place he checks. Grace states that she hasn’t seen him in days, but solemnly promises to call the house if he shows up, and additionally offers to knock him over the head with something and keep him there if need be. Alfie honestly considers picking her up on that offer.

Leaving the pub, Alfie makes his way to the house instead. A tiny, naïve part of him hopes that maybe Tommy just gave up and collapsed in bed. But the bedroom is as empty as the office and he resists the urge to pick up the nearest object and hurl it into a wall. His eyes lands on the nightstand, and a very unwelcomed thought enters his mind.

Tommy wouldn’t… he’s not that fucking daft.

_Right now, he is._

The drawer is empty, the bottle of morphine nowhere to be found. 

A spike of fear rushes up his spine, making the adrenaline flow through his veins.

Fuck. Fuck- _fuckfuck_ \- He sets off down the stairs again, trying desperately to block out the pictures flashing by in his head.

When he parks the car outside the stables, the evening dusk has turned into an inky darkness. The air is cold enough to sting in his lungs as he walks over the empty yard, a pale moon serving to light his path slightly.

“Tommy?” he calls out as he enters the large building, despite knowing he’s not supposed to be loud around the horses. The jittery fucking creatures… There’s no answer of course. Walking up to the white horse, the one Tommy usually rides, Alfie heaves a sigh.

“Maybe you could be a bit useful for once and tell me where Tommy’s at, how about it?”

The horse only gives a loud huff in response, breath turning into white puffs of smoke in the cold air.

“Figure this should be a mutual thing,” Alfie mutters. “Always looking out for you isn’t he? Think it’s only fair you do the same.” He looks into the large, dark eyes. The horse blinks at him, before throwing its head back in what could be interpreted as a nod. But it’s not of much help.

He takes a walk around the stables, feeling utterly aimless in his search now. In spite of this, he looks through every corner of all the buildings, the stalls, storage rooms, even the hayloft. And as he’s climbing that fucking ladder, muttering curses under his breath, he fights to keep the panic at bay. If he doesn’t find Tommy here, the only remaining place to search is every single fucking alley in all of Birmingham. 

How long does it take for someone to freeze to death?

Grunting in pain as he heaves himself up onto the floor, Alfie finds himself in a surprisingly spacious room. The ceiling sits high up over his head, and the moonlight shines in through a large window, tinting the stacks of hay blue and grey. It ignites a tiny flicker of hope for some reason. It seems like the sort of place Tommy would like –high up, airy. Quiet. Close to the horses.

“Tommy?” his voice doesn’t echo here, muffled by all the hay. It’s comforting, somehow. But he receives no answer. He navigates carefully between the large piles of hay, scanning the little corridors they form. But there’s no sign of Tommy.

There’s no point. If Tommy doesn’t want to be found, Alfie won’t find him. Least of all here, with the myriad of possible hiding places. He takes a moment to just stand there and breathe, head cradled in his hands. Fuck, he can’t think… His breathing is too loud, drowning out all the thoughts…

Out of options, and with a heavy weariness having replaced the adrenaline, Alfie returns to the house. He needs help.

He finds Arthur in the kitchen, seated by the table with a glass of whiskey. Taking a quick glance around the room, Alfie realises he’s the only available option right now.

“Where the fuck is everyone?”

“Pol and Ada are upstairs with Finn, think John and Esme-“

Alife has already stopped listening. “Tommy hasn’t come home, has he?”

“Thought you were supposed to handle him?” Arthur mutters, looking down on the paper in front of him.

“Well, that was the fucking plan, wasn’t it, but I can’t find him. And-“ he cuts himself off, suddenly doubting whether he should tell Arthur about the morphine or not.

“Did you check the stables?” Arthur wonders, eyes still fastened at the paper.

“Of course I fucking did.”

“Maybe he just needs to sulk for a while,” Arthur offers then, but a wrinkle has appeared between his eyebrows and he closes the paper to look up at Alfie

Alfie hesitates for another second, before realising he’s got no other options. He closes the door and lowers his voice. “Doctor prescribed me a bottle of morphine,” he says. “I don’t use shit like that. Prefer the pain. So it’s full. And it’s gone now.

Arthur gets out of his chair, jaw set tightly and eyes sharp.

“We’ve got to find him,” he states. “I’ll call some of the blokes. Get them out looking.” He snags the glass up from the table and empties it. “Fucking knew something like this would happen.” The words are followed by a headshake. “First that thing at the hospital and now this… Wound so tight his fucking spine is about to snap.”

Thank fuck Arthur can pull himself together when it counts. Alfie gives him a crooked grin, allowing himself to feel relieved, just for a moment.

“Just look at the two of us…who would’ve thought, eh? Finally agreeing about something.”

Arthur lets out a humourless chuckle.

“I’m sure that tomorrow you’ll say something inappropriate and shit will be back to-“

The sound of the front door opening cuts their conversation short, and Alfie immediately sets for the hallway. He almost walks straight into Tommy who’s unsteadily making his way towards the stairs. Tommy recoils at the sight of him, hand shooting towards the handle of the front door.

Without a word, Alfie takes a firm grip around his arm and pulls him into the kitchen with its warm light, to get a better look at him. A dizzying mixture between relief, worry and anger makes his heart beat a staccato in his chest.

 “Did you use any of it?” he asks brusquely, cradling Tommy’s face between his hands as he searches his eyes for any signs of the drug. Reeks of whiskey, he does, but the pupils aren’t dilated at least.

“No,” Tommy hisses as he rips himself loose and takes a step backwards, staring defiantly at him. He pulls out the small bottle from his inner pocket and slams it down onto the kitchen table. It’s still full.

Arthur takes one look at them and leaves the kitchen, giving Alfie’s shoulder a light slap in passing. “Just wake me up if you need to, yeah?”

Then it’s just the two of them.

Struggling to control the now towering rage, Alfie turns to face Tommy. He looks absolutely feral, eyes bloodshot and wide –too large in the gaunt face.

“Right, now, we’re going to talk. Whether you fucking like it or not,” he states and closes the door. Tommy’s eyes snap to the lock. His right hand clenches into a fist where it hangs by his side. 

“Nothing to talk about,” he mutters and makes a move to walk past him. Alfie grabs him, fingers closing tightly around the bony shoulders.

“You’re not leaving this fucking kitchen until you tell me what’s going on with your head,” he spits. “Is this how it’s going to be now, eh? You running away to sulk somewhere while I just fucking… drive around all of Birmingham looking for you? Half convinced I’ll find you dead in some alleyway?”

“Let go of me.” Tommy grabs his wrists, but Alfie refuses to budge. He’s not backing down this time.

“You fucked up today, you realise that, don’t you?” he says, unable to keep the rage from his voice. “And you’re going to keep doing that until you start putting yourself back together.” Hands still on Tommy’s shoulders, he stares him down. “Not even going in to see your little brother, who fucking worships the ground you walk on, that’s a shit thing to do.”

“I know!” Tommy snaps, eyes just as cold as the hands gripping Alfie’s wrists. But there’s a frenzied glint to them, building under the icy surface. “Unless you haven’t noticed, that’s what I fucking do. I fuck shit up.” He takes a shaky breath. “I nearly got you killed- and now Finn…“

Alfie’s hands drop uselessly to his sides, and Tommy backs away from him, arms wrapping themselves tightly around his ribs.

“What are you on about, eh? Think that car accidents are beyond even your control.”

Tommy’s gaze has turned to the floor, and his voice is low as he speaks. “I didn’t come with him,” he says, swallowing thickly. “I promised, but I- I was so tired, I just needed to- to sit down for a while, so I said I couldn’t…”

“What?” Alfie struggles to make sense of the incoherent muttering.

“I promised we’d go to the stables.” Tommy’s eyes shift to the door. Back to the floor. Anywhere but Alfie’s face. “And he went alone and if I’d gone with him, this never would’ve happened.”

Leave it to Tommy to believe himself responsible for every single misfortune in the world...

“That boy runs around half of Birmingham alone on a daily basis,” Alfie reasons. “Climbing fucking trees and fences and God knows what. No one could’ve known this was the day when people just lost their fucking ability to drive a car.”

Tommy shakes his head, nails digging into his arms as he begins to pace the kitchen floor.

“I should’ve known… But I fucked up. Just like I fucked everything up with Changretta,” he mutters, seemingly more to himself than Alfie. “Should’ve… should’ve kept more weapons in the house. Should’ve known something like that would happen…

“Where the fuck are you getting all this from?” Alfie can’t come up with something else to say right then. But Tommy doesn’t even seem to hear him, continuing to mutter quietly to himself as his nails dig into his arms, bloodied knuckles whitening.

“I can’t do anything right… God I’m so fucking stupid…” 

Fuck, Alfie can’t take any more of this. “Tommy, sweetheart, what are you talking about?”

Tommy’s head snaps up, and he stares at Alfie with wide eyes, as if he only now realises he’s not alone in the room.

His eyes shift to the door and he tries to get past Alfie again, moving quickly this time. Alfie just barely manages to grab his arm. 

“Let go of me.” Tommy tries to wrench himself out of the grip, but Alfie refuses.

“I can’t let you go anywhere in this fucking state.”

“You can’t keep me here,” Tommy gasps. “You can’t just- just lock me up.

“I can’t watch you do this to yourself,” Alfie says, struggling to keep his voice steady as Tommy fights to get loose. But he can hear it crack. “Over and over again.” He snatches Tommy’s other wrist, trying to gain eye contact. “Why is this so fucking hard for you? Why won’t you just fucking talk?” 

 _Stop pushing_ , a voice screams in his head. _You’re going to break him_. And despite Tommy’s frighteningly weak limbs and how easy it is to hold him still, it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

He doesn’t want to do this anymore. He wants to tell Tommy that it’ll all be alright, wrap him up in a hug. Tell him he doesn’t have to talk…  Just stay there with Alfie. Promise to not hurt himself…

“Let go.” Tommy is pleading now, desperation clear in his eyes. _If you let him go now, you’ll never get him back_. “You’re hurting me.”

The words make Alfie release the bony wrists, as if he’s burnt himself on the pale skin. But he’s still blocking the doorway.  

Tommy stumbles until he’s backed himself into a corner, and there’s nowhere to escape. He stands there, lips pressed together and his whole body shaking as he cowers against the wall.

“Did something happen that you haven’t told me about?” Alfie feels like he’s pleading too, now. “Did Changretta-“ Fuck, he can’t even bring himself to say it out loud. “Did he hurt you? Is that why you won’t talk about it?” _You’re a fucking coward, Alfie Solomons…_  

Tommy shakes his head, his nails leaving red marks as they rake down the back of his hand.  

“What is it then?” Alfie takes a step towards him, halting when Tommy flinches and presses himself against the wall. “I can’t help you if you don’t fucking let me in.” Still shaking his head, Tommy hides his face behind his hands, every muscle wound tight.

Alfie is out of soothing words right then. He’s watching someone drown, but is unable to even get into the water himself. And Tommy just stands there, breaths coming in frantic gasps and arms trembling.

“Fucking say _something_ , Tommy!” he finally shouts. Desperate. Helpless. “Why are you doing this to yourself? Just- fuck, what’s going on with your head?”

“I don’t know!” the words tear from Tommy’s throat as he screams them at Alfie from behind his hands. “I don’t- I don’t know-“ It dissolves into a wordless cry and he sinks down onto the floor, curling inwards on himself as he clasps his arms around his head.

 _Happy now? You broke him_.

The scream turns into sobs. “I can’t do this, please, I can’t…”

Finally regaining his bearings enough to move, Alfie sits down next to Tommy, wrapping both arms around his shaking frame and pulling him close. Still cowering under his arms, Tommy curls up tighter into the protective ball. Wanting to shut the world out. Or maybe just desperately trying to hold himself together. Alfie resorts to simply lifting the tightly wound ball of limbs into his lap.

“It’s alright, love. I’m here,” he whispers shakily, trying to swallow down the lump that has formed in his throat.  “I’ll always be right here. We’ll get through this, yeah?”  

Tommy winds his arms around Alfie’s chest, burying his face in his shirt as he cries. The sobs turn into something akin to howls, and the fingers that grasp at his shirt are convulsively tight as his entire body shakes. Alfie begins to rock him slowly back and forth, his hand rubbing circles on his back.

“It’s okay, love. Get it out.”

Tommy probably couldn’t stop even if he tried at that point.

It’s just pouring out of him now, all those things he’s kept bottled up so tightly. Alfie’s never seen him cry like this. Barely seen him cry at all, in fact. And then it’s always been somewhat calm, just like most things where Tommy’s concerned. Mostly silent tears that seem to well his eyes by their own volition. Like water seeping through a tiny crack in a wall. This is different. Like a force of nature, detached completely from Tommy’s own will.

It feels like he sits there for hours, hushing and soothing, with Tommy crying desperately in his arms. He whispers soft reassurances, without knowing if they’re even true anymore. _It’ll be okay, you’ll be okay…_  But mostly, he just holds him. At some point, he’s got tears in his own eyes. There’s so much raw pain emanating from Tommy that it’s honestly overwhelming.

It all comes out in a jumbled mess. Tommy sobbingly rambles about voices in the dark, about moving walls and about being scared, so so scared… it mixes together with memories from the hospital. _You can’t die, you can’t leave me, please, please promise that you won’t leave me…_

Alfie promises, over and over again.

He doesn’t understand even half of it. Must be a lot of old pain finally bubbling to the surface in that incoherent, fragmented chaos that only makes sense to Tommy himself. _I’m sorry, I’ll do better, just give me one more chance I’ll fix everything…_ But Alfie doesn’t question it. Just grants forgiveness when he asks for it. And stays with him. Maybe sometimes, that’s all you can do.

Then finally, the storm passes.

The sobs die out to whimpers and hic-ups, and Tommy calms down enough to breathe again, falling limply against Alfie’s chest. Alfie can breathe a little easier too. Before he can figure out what to say now, Tommy’s voice comes from somewhere in his shirt.

“Are you going to have me committed?” he whispers.

The question catches Alfie off guard. 

“What?”

“To an asylum or something,” the quiet voice continues. “Would be better for everyone. I think… I think something broke inside my head. When I was locked up.”

Alfie rests his chin on the top of Tommy’s head.

“Do you think you belong in an asylum?” he asks softly.

“Sometimes,” Tommy admits, still without retreating from his shirt. It’s wet with tears now “At night. Or… when I’m alone.”

Alfie strokes his hair, continuing to rock him gently back and forth. 

“Nah, see, you belong here, don’t you? With me. And your head isn’t broken.”

Tommy tighten his grip on his shirtfront and draws a shuddering breath.

“I don’t know why you put up with me,” he mutters out the familiar words, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand as the last few tears spill from them. And fuck how Alfie wishes he could just pluck that thought right out of his head… 

“I put up with you, right, because I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in the entire bloody world,” he answers. He’ll answer this question no matter how many times he gets it. “And that thing I said, back in the warehouse, I meant it. Might have been a desperate move, right, but fuck if I didn’t mean it. I would give everything up for you. In the blink of a fucking eye.” 

“Why?” Tommy asks from the confines of his shirt.

One day he won’t have to ask these questions. One day, Alfie will make him understand… But for now, he just holds him a bit tighter.

“Oh, let’s see. Where to start… Because you’re the only person who can keep up with both my brilliant sense of humour and my razor-sharp wit,” he muses, smiling as Tommy finally looks up at him. “And despite your at times questionable plans and decisions, you’re the brightest person I know.” He cups Tommy’s face and runs a thumb gently over the cheekbone. “You have a talent for overlooking all my faults, love. But I assure you there’s plenty of them,” he says softly. “But when I’m with you, there’s no part of me that feels wrong.”

Tommy smiles up at him, a tired and bleak smile, but still a smile. Then he lays his head back against his shoulder and finally exhales, his whole body growing a bit heavier in Alfie’s arms.

They stay in the kitchen for a while longer. Alfie is unwilling to break the fragile peace that has finally settled in the room, or pull Tommy out of the calm state he seems to be in. But eventually, Tommy’s eyes begin to droop, eyelashes fluttering as he struggles to keep them open. And Alfie isn’t sure his still rather sore side can handle carrying him upstairs just yet.

“How about we go to bed, hm?” he suggests. “Just to lie down for a bit.”

He receives no answer, but Tommy slips down from his lap and lets himself be pulled up to his feet.

The way upstairs has never felt this long before, but once they finally reach the bedroom Alfie tucks Tommy in under several layers of blankets, pulling him into a close embrace that Tommy instantly nestles into. And he can finally exhale completely, not realising until now how fucking tired he is. Tommy’s wiry body feels pleasantly relaxed too, the nervous twitches and tense muscles having disappeared with the tears. At least for now. 

His eyes fall on the nightstand, and he sighs, knowing he has to ask.

 “So,” he begins as he gently scratches Tommy’s back. “About the morphine, yeah? Let’s just get that conversation over and done with.”

Tommy’s eyes fasten on the bedside lamp and the soft light it spreads in the room.

“I just… wanted to not feel anything.”

“But you didn’t take any,” Alfie states, and a long stretch of silence follows.

“I was afraid that I… That I wouldn’t be able to stop,” Tommy finally whispers, and the honest answer causes his heart to twist. “But then I- I don’t know. I just wanted to come home.” The arm wrapped around Alfie’s waist tightens its hold slightly. “To you.”

“See, it’s better then, innit? Pretty sure that could’ve gone in a whole other direction a year ago. Know it’s bloody hard, but… I recon getting better isn’t just something you do once, and then it’s over and done with,” Alfie muses. “More of a… long term thing, I’d say.”

“How you got to be this wise, I’ll never know,” Tommy says, and the little huff of air against Alfie’s chest could almost have been a laugh.

“It’s the beard, love, told you that multiple times. Recon all my reading’s got something to do with it. See, I’m just fucking steeping myself in all sorts of knowledge. Especially lately, what with being stuck in this bed and all.”  
Tommy hums and huddles a little closer, settling deeper into the embrace. “Austen, eh? Is this the type of thing she writes about?”

“Nah, if anything she’s given me an edge romance wise. Luckily. Got to weigh up for my many flaws, don’t I?”

Tommy raises his head and gives him a tiny, crocked smile as he runs a finger down his temple with a feather light touch. 

“What flaws?”

Despite the obvious ignorance in this statement, Alfie still feels his heart grow a few sizes at the words. Taking the hand, carefully avoiding the injured knuckles and raw scratches, he places a soft kiss on the palm.

“How is it that you can see nothing but the good in me, eh? And nothing but the bad in yourself?”

Instead of offering an answer, Tommy buries his face in the crook of his neck, and just breathes. Alfie strokes his back, letting the fingers run up into his hair and softly rake through the tangled locks.

“Can we leave the light on?” Tommy whispers when Alfie reaches out for the lamp on the bedside table.

“Of course.” Alfie lays the arm back around Tommy’s shoulders. With a soft exhale, Tommy closes his eyes, his breathing growing deeper. Alfie looks down at him. The long eyelashes are even darker than usual, a few tears still caught in them. God, his stupid, beautiful boy…It shouldn’t be possible to love someone this much.  

“I know that you’ve felt alone, love,” he mumbles, continuing to gently run his fingers through his hair. “That you’ve got this idea, right, that the whole world rests on your shoulders. But if you just took a step back every once in a while, I think you’d see that you’ve got people around you who want nothing more than to help you. You just got to let them.”

Tommy doesn’t respond, but Alfie thinks he can see a faint smile cross his lips. And that’s enough for now.

…

Tommy sleeps until late in the afternoon the following day. After watching him doze peacefully for the better part of the morning, Alfie eventually goes downstairs to make sure there’s something for him to eat when he wakes up. Preferably something he won’t reject.

As he stands there with flour up to his elbows, kneading a bread dough, Arthur comes into the kitchen.

“How’s he doing? Tommy?”

“Know what, I’m not going to stand here and say it’s fine, because he does that often enough himself. And it’s honestly not fucking fine,” Alfie states, forming the dough into two loaves. “Think you and John have to take on a heavier load with the business for a while. He needs a proper rest.”

Arthur nods, running a hand over his mouth.  

“Yeah, yeah sure,” he says. “I’ll have a word with John.”  He scratches the back of his head. “He doesn’t… he doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s always sort of idolized Tommy. Figure it’s hard for him, dealing with any sort of disappointments. But I’ll talk to him. He’ll understand.”

Alfie hums and goes to wash his hands. “Yeah, he usually catches on to things a lot fucking quicker than you, doesn’t he? Bet this is a new experience for both of you.”

“Glad to hear you’re just as fucking infuriating as ever,” Arthur grunts, but it’s followed by a huff of laughter. “Next time you get shot, why don’t you ask them to aim for your head, eh? Bet that would do a lot less damage. Considering it’s completely fucking empty.”

“Nah, nah, next time, I’ll just make sure to be next to you. Use your face to distract them,“ Alfie retorts, grinning down at the washbasin. “How you and my Tommy -widely known to be the most beautiful man ever having set foot on Birmingham’s filthy streets, mind you- how you two can be related I’ll never understand.”

“And still he’s with you,” Arthur says, and is rewarded by a generous splash of water in the face. He jumps backwards far too late and exclaims towards the ceiling, “When will I know peace?”

Chuckling, Alfie goes to heat up the oven while Arthur grumbles insults under his breath.

Everything is comfortingly normal.

An hour later, the house is filled with the scent of freshly baked bread, and as if on que, the rest of the family shows up in the kitchen one by one. Alfie leaves Arthur to deal with them. John in particular.

“I’m directing any and all questions to my dear friend Arthur,” he states, placing two cups of tea and some bread on a tray. “See, I’ve got someone upstairs who’ll be needing my full attention for the remainder of this day.”

Alfie goes back upstairs with the tea, seating himself on the edge of the bed and reaching out to stroke Tommy’s hair. Slowly, Tommy begins to stir under the hand, and his eyes open a sliver.

“Morning,” he mutters and looks sleepily up at Alfie. 

“Afternoon,” Alfie says with a nod towards the window. Tommy’s eyes widen briefly, and he makes a move to sit, sinking back against the mattress only when Alfie’s hand comes to rest on his chest.

“No, you’re staying in bed today. Arthur and John are running shit.”

Tommy gives it another feeble attempt. “But I-“

“It’s not a discussion. See, you’re going to rest your pretty little head on that pillow while I feed you bread. That’s the only thing happening today, alright?”

By some fucking miracle, Tommy resigns to this fate without as much as a displeased huff, sitting up in the bed and leaning back against the pillows. Getting in next to him, Alfie places the plate with bread in his lap.

“Go ahead. Eat.”

“Did you bake it?”

“Of course. Won’t do with anything else when it comes to you, love.” 

Tommy begins tearing the bread it into smaller pieces, taking one at a time and chewing each piece for a long time before finally swallowing. While he’s eating, Alfie makes sure to provide some distraction, talking about this and that. He’s had a lot of time to think, hasn’t he, being stuck in bed with his own head for so long, so there’s no lack of conversational topics.

“I need to go and talk to Finn,” Tommy says when he’s finally managed to eat the whole thing. “Apologize.”

“Thomas Shelby apologizing?” Alfie smirks. “Hell really has frozen over, hasn’t it? Must be the weather.”

“Fuck off,” Tommy grumbles and bumps his shoulder against Alfie’s, which he responds to by cradling his head in his hand and kissing his temple.

“Nah, I’m just teasing, sweetie. You’ve had great progress in that area lately.”

The door opens.

“Tommy, look at my cast!” Finn is suddenly standing on the threshold, smiling brightly as he holds his left arm up for Tommy to see.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” Tommy points out as he climbs onto the bed, sitting down by the wall and stretching his legs out over Tommy’s. 

 “I’m not! Look, I’m in a bed now!”

“How’re you feeling?” Tommy asks, giving Finn one of the pillows to lean against.

“I’m good. Well, my head hurts a bit. And the arm. But I actually think it would’ve been well cool if I’d lost the arm instead of just breaking it, ‘cause then I could’ve had a hook hand!“ Finn talks a little about all the possibilities such an item could open up. Patiently waiting for him to finish, Tommy just sits there and listens for a while. Eventually, Finn runs out of thoughts on the topic.

“I’m really sorry, Finn,” Tommy says then. “For not coming to see you at the hospital.” Finn blinks in surprise and then gives a small shrug.  
“It’s okay, you weren’t feeling good.”

“It doesn’t change anything.” Tommy pauses, searching for the right words. “I got really scared. And sometimes when you’re scared, you do stupid things. And I’m sorry I didn’t go with you to the stables like I promised.” Another stretch of silence follows as Tommy lowers his gaze, looking down at his damaged hands. Alfie gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’m not… well, right now.”

“I know,” Finn says. “You need to rest your head. And I need to rest my arm. So we can both rest for a while.”  A pleased grin flashes across his face. “John told me you punched that bloke in the face. The one with the car. He was really nice though, but it was still pretty cool that you did.”

“I’d punch a thousand blokes in the face for you.” Tommy smiles wearily and gives Finn’s hair an affectionate tug. Finn is grinning from ear to ear.

Then he sees the plate with the breadcrumbs, and his eyes snap to Alfie.

“Did you bake?”

“I did- ” Alfie can barely finish the last word before Finn is out of the bed.  

Tommy sits up a little straighter.

“Finn, you shouldn’t-“ his shoulders slump in defeat as Finn disappears out the door, he and sinks back against Alfie’s arm. Alfie presses a kiss onto the top of his head.

“Don’t worry, love, someone will catch him and bring him back to bed.”

“Not sure I could get up even if I tried,” Tommy mumbles and shifts in the embrace, head slipping down to rest on Alfie’s chest. “Fuck, I don’t know why I’m so exhausted.” Resting his cheek against the top of his head, Alfie gazes out the window at the dreary scenery outside, the grey rooftops and grimy bricks. 

“How about we go away for a little while?” he suggests, choosing to not point out to Tommy that it’s not such a mystery he’s finally hit a wall. “Think a change in scenery would do you good.”

“Where would we go?” Tommy asks, much to Alfie’s surprise.

“Oh, I’ve got a place in mind. I do distinctly remember promising to take you to the sea. Got a house there, don’t I? We could… go for walks on the beach. Sleep in…” Alfie slides a hand up Tommy’s thigh, giving the inside a squeeze and adding with a grin, “Make love.” 

Tommy gives a huff of laughter at the last suggestion –he often does when Alfie uses that phrase. But Alfie likes saying it. Make love. Has a nice ring to it. And it’s his prerogative to say it as much as he bloody well likes. Tommy takes his hand.

“I’d like that.”

…

Alfie wakes up from a spontaneous afternoon nap to find Tommy missing from his spot on the sofa, having previously been curled up right next to him. Someone has removed the book from where he’d let it slip onto his face, and it’s now placed on the table.

Sitting up, he immediately catches eye of him, standing out on the balcony overlooking the beach. Alfie goes to join him, grabbing the blanket hanging over the back of the sofa. He doesn’t say anything, but he knows Tommy can hear him as the wood creaks under his feet.

Alfie wraps the blanket tightly around Tommy’s shoulders, resting his chin on his right one as he tugs him closer against his chest. For a little while, they just stand there. Alfie breathes in the salty air and decides this kind of air should be canned and brought back to Birmingham to give some respite from the appalling smell there.

“We should go inside,” he eventually says and places a soft kiss right under his ear. “You’ll get cold.”

Tommy gives a hum and leans into the embrace, gaze fastened on the waves crashing against the beach.

“Just a little while longer.”

His shoulders feel relaxed under Alfie’s chin, and his eyes are calm.  

“You know, there’s something I haven’t asked you about,” Alfie furrows his brow, watching the dark clouds sail by overhead. “Where were you hiding out at, eh? That night when you disappeared.”

“The stables,” Tommy answers. “There’s… this spot up on the hayloft.”

“Ah, I knew I wasn’t completely off.”

“I used to hide there when I was a kid,” Tommy says and leans his head back against his shoulder, looking up at the sky. “Don’t’ think you can find it if you don’t know about it. It’s right under the window. Used to sit there and… look at the horses.”

 Alfie hums. “Did you do that a lot when you were little, eh? Hide?” Tommy shrugs, face getting that distant look to it which conversations about his childhood always bring about.

“I liked it because no one could find me there. Felt safe, I guess.”

 “It’s good that you told me,” Alfie says encouragingly. “Then I know where to find you next time.”

“There won’t be one,” Tommy promises, immediately pulling himself out of whatever memory he was lost in.

Alfie turns him around so they’re facing each other, gently taking Tommy’s face between both hands and tilting it upwards. Tommy meets his gaze, eyes unwavering and soft in the light of the slowly setting sun.

“If there is, I’ll come looking for you, love,” Alfie says firmly. “I always will.” 

Tommy captures his lips in a gentle kiss.

“I know.”


End file.
